


The Stars At Night

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying, Dirty Talk, First Time, Incest, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: For the Wincest Writing Challenge!Prompt: Summer - stargazing





	The Stars At Night

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says softly. Sam hears it vaguely, through a thick blanket of sleep, and he tiredly forces his eyes open, reaching up to rub at them. Dean is smiling at him, the expression warm, and Sam can’t help but give a little smile back, even as a powerful yawn makes itself known. Rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes, he looks out of the window. He just sees the stretch of desert around them, and he turns to look at Dean.

“Where are we?” Dean grins at him, and nods his head for Sam to get out of the car. Sam draws himself out of the passenger side, stretching out his arms above his head and rolling his neck to ease out some of the tension. When he opens his mouth, it drops open, and he stares.

It’s late in the evening, Sam would judge by the position of the moon, and the sky is a deep, rich purple-blue. It doesn’t seem real, the colours are so oversaturated, and the shining white of the stars stands out to him. Spreading out in an arch above their heads, Sam sees the violet clouds of the edge of the Milky Way.

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam whispers. He turns his head, and Dean is sat on the Impala’s hood, one beer balanced on his knee and another being held out to Sam. Sam makes his way over, sliding on top of her hood and leaning back against the windshield, and he takes the proffered drink, staring up at the sky.

It’s insanely pretty out here, and for a few seconds, Sam finds he can forget about Dad, about his weird premonitions, about all the stuff he’s been worrying about. He just lets his gaze travel over the skies.

“Where are we?” Sam asks.

“This, little bro, is your first ever trip to the Grand Canyon,” Dean answers. “Ain’t it a good one?”

“It’s great, Dean, jeeze,” Sam says, shaking his head. Looking out at all the stars, at the rich colours painted up there, he feels an unexpected tension in his chest _loosen_ slightly. He’d not even known it was there, but now it draws slowly away, and he lets his head tip back against the car.

Taking a sip from his beer, he looks to Dean. Dean looks as easy as you please, his ankles crossed over each other, a self-satisfied, easy smile on his face as he looks out around him. He looks just as relaxed as Sam, more relaxed than Sam has seen him in months, even when sprawled out with a skin mag or browsing something stupid on Sam’s computer.

It’s weird that Sam’s mind would go there, go to Dean thinking about jacking off, but it’s where his mind goes nonetheless, and he feels his brow furrow slightly. He leans in slightly, sitting forward on the car, and Dean glances at him.

“What is it, Sam? I take you out on this great, _super romantic_ date, and you’re looking at me instead of the stars? Guess you’re more gay than I thought.” That’s Dean’s go-to, Sam guesses: when Dean gets nervous, he calls Sam a girl or says that he’s gay. Isn’t it weird, Sam thinks? Isn’t it weird that Dean reads skinmags in front of him, or watches porn on Sam’s computer?

Sometimes, Dean even jacks off while Sam’s in the room with him, when he thinks Sam’s fast asleep. Sam can hear the soft slap of flesh on flesh, Dean’s quiet grunts, his gasps, the little groan he makes when he comes.

“Sam?” Dean asks, and Sam kind of snaps out of it. Dean looks nervous, worried about him, and Sam feels his gaze drop to Dean’s mouth. He’s always had super pink lips – one time, when they were at school, Sam remembers a group of older kids talking about how Dean must be some kind of fag, because he looked like he wore _lipstick_.

“This really a date?” Sam asks. Dean peers at him, tilting his head to the side and looking _confused_ more than anything else. Sam leans a little closer, puts his hand right beside Dean’s hip, leans so close that their faces are together. Dean’s eyes get wider by the second, and Sam’s heart is beating like a fucking drum in his chest, but he isn’t gonna draw back, not now. “You want it to be a date, Dean?”

“This isn’t funny, Sammy,” Dean says panickedly, pressing his back so hard against the glass of the windshield that he looks ready to just go flat. “Sam, this isn’t—”

“Please,” Sam says, softly. “If you really didn’t want this, you’d say, right? You’d say?” Dean searches Sam’s face, apparently looking for some sign that Sam’s joking or just being weird, but Sam’s expression is serious as Hell. There’s a pause between them, and after the longest few moments, Sam closes his eyes, breathes in, and leans down to kiss him.

 **☾** **✩** **☽** **↤** **❂** **ϟ** **ＳＵＰＥＲＮＡＴＵＲＡＬ** **ϟ** **❂** **↦** **☾** **✩** **☽**

Dean whimpers when he feels Sammy’s lips on his.

This isn’t right. It isn’t right, isn’t right, _isn’t right_ : he’s always found himself looking at Sam when the lights are low and Sam’s getting ready for bed, when Sam’s coming out of the showers or when he’s getting changed in the back of the Impala, but this… This isn’t good. This isn’t okay. He _can’t_.

And yet Sam’s kissing him, Sam’s lips are on Dean’s lips, his tongue drawing over the outside of Dean’s mouth, and Sam’s weight is on top of Dean, one of his ridiculously long legs between Dean’s thighs.

“You mind?” Sam asks, and he’s clutching onto Dean, holding onto him so damn tightly that Dean can hardly breathe, and Dean just nods his head, nods desperately. With Dean nodding, Sam just seems to go slightly insane. Grabbing his wallet and pulling something out of it, he drags his mouth over Dean’s neck, unbuttoning Dean’s jeans and shit, shit, they can’t really be doing this.

Dean tips his head back, looking out at the skies and trying to keep his eyes off Sam, trying to imagine this isn’t happening, that this isn’t Dean’s fucking _dream_ , and he sees the wonderful, bright shine of the stars. The moon is a creamy, slightly yellow white, and the moonlight shines down on the back of Sam’s head, shining off his hair.

Sam pushes Dean’s pants down, so they’re right down to his ankles, and Dean feels the cool of his ass against the metal of the Impala’s hood – but hey, he and Baby have played this game before.

Just not with Sam.

“You ever had this before, Dean?” Sam asks, pressing slick fingers between Dean’s thighs – he’d taken a sachet of fucking _lube_ out of his wallet, damn, what a fucking boy scout – and his index finger makes a wet _shlick_ where it touches against Dean’s asshole. His finger is warm, but the lube is cool, and he feels Sam circle the dry, puckered skin to wet it properly before he presses forward.

Dean clenches slightly, feeling Sam press slowly forwards and into him, so slowly, so slowly, until Sam’s finger is buried in him and Dean can feel his hand between his thighs, and God, oh _God_.

“Nuh uh,” Dean whines. “No butt stuff.”

“Heh. You’re missing out,” Sam says, drawing the wetted finger out and then pressing it in again, beginning to thrust and curl it. It feels strange, having something inside him like this, something dexterous, and when Sam slowly presses a second finger in alongside, Dean _gasps_. He can’t help the greedy shift of his hips, the wide spread of his thighs, and he loses his grip on the bottle: with a clank and then a soft smash of glass, it rolls off the hood and onto the ground, leaving a spill of beer in its wake.

“Sam,” Dean whimpers, and Sam slowly – oh so slowly, too slowly – scissors his fingers, and Dean can feel the slightest burn of the unused muscle stretching under the touch. It’s hot, hot as Hell, and not just because they’re in Colorado in the middle of July, and Sam speeds the movements of his fingers just a little bit. He wants to be inside Dean, and Dean’s _seen_ Sam’s dick – it’s a fucking monster, a moose cock to go with the rest of his huge body, and at the thought, Dean wails and presses his cheek to the windshield. He can’t be his smartass self, not right now, not when his baby brother is pressing a third finger into his fucking asshole, and said asshole is _clenching_ greedily, as if Dean’s body is welcoming Sam inside.

Sam scissors the three fingers, stretching Dean’s hole as wide as it’ll go, and Dean bites on his lip to keep from screaming – if he screams here, at the edge of the damned canyon, he knows it’ll just echo all the way through, and he’ll be damned if his incest-fuelled ride of fucking _sin_ is gonna start a brand new urban legend.

Sam’s red in the face and breathing heavy, and when he slicks up his cock, Dean listens to the wet slap of it.

“You okay?” Sam asks, murmurs the question like a prayer, and Dean cannot nod fast enough, hard enough, _desperately_ enough. Slowly, Sam draws back his fingers, and he lines himself up. Sam’s a heavy weight between Dean’s thighs, and his cock prods against Dean’s hole: it feels so much bigger than the entrance there, feels so much bigger than Sam’s fingers, which are kinda bony; it’s a thick, round _press_ of heavy flesh, and as Sam presses slowly inside him, Dean can’t help the groan that comes out of him.

That burn comes again, but it’s not as much as Dean expected – he can feel how much thicker Sam’s cock is than his fingers, feel the heavy slickness within him. Sam presses slowly inside him, so slowly it’s fucking agonizing, like Sam is spearing him open with a damned _weapon_ , and Dean looks up at him, looks past Sam and sees the curtain of beautiful stares above his head, and Sam bottoms out, his groin pressed right against Dean’s ass, and he’s full to the brim, so full he could cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sam murmurs as Dean lets out a soft, almost sob, and his lips touch to Dean’s again. As he rolls back his hips, fucking slowly into Dean, he kisses Dean hard, so hard his head spins, and Dean wails into his mouth, clutching at Sam, digging his nails into his back and trying to arch his hips into as much of Sam as humanly possible. Every now and then Sam will draw over that nub inside him that Dean knows is called his prostate, and it’s just _… It’s too much._

He can feel it growing in him, feel the tension building in his belly, making him stiff and gasping. As he fucks himself back against Sam, who’s moving _so damn slowly_ , it builds and it builds, like a sort of tingling in all of his nerves, and Dean is shivering and whining and he can’t believe he’s being such a fucking _girl_ about this but it’s too _much_.

“You gonna come, Dean?” Sam asks. “You gonna come like this, with me inside you? With your little brother fucking you full?” Dean keens. “Is that what you want, huh? You want me to come in you? So you’re dripping with it, so you’ve got me leaking out of you, so you can’t fucking walk straight for days?”

Dean can’t help it. He lets out a gasping sob, but Sam seems to know this time that he’s not _crying_ , he’s not like, _sad_ or something – it’s just so much for him that he can’t fucking take it, and Sam drags his tongue over Dean’s cheek, tastes the fucking _salt_ on him.

Dean comes, feels his balls clench up tight and feels his ass clamp down around the thickness of Sam inside him, and Sam grins at him like he’s going savage, begins to fuck faster, fuck so fast inside him, drawing over Dean’s _spot_ each damned time, and it’s way too much – Dean is sensitive with having come, feeling swollen and weird and overstimulated, and he has to gasp and just _take it._

When Sam comes, Dean is so fucking sensitive that it almost _hurts_ when Sam slowly draws out of him, and Dean whimpers.

Dean feels the wetness dribble out of him, onto the surface of the car, but he grabs at Sam, doesn’t let him go away. He holds tightly to Sam, tightly, and stares up at the beautiful night sky.

“Love you, Sammy,” Dean whispers. Lying on top of him, letting Dean hold him, and staring up at the sky with him before the guilt hits, before it hits them both, Sammy whispers,

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you enjoyed that! Check [this link](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/post/160853818533/request-commission-information) out if you’re interested in making a request. I love requests, so please feel free to send them in! Commissions are open, and I do have a tip jar too, if you're interested.


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